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Authors: Kate McMullan

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BOOK: Beware! It's Friday the 13th
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Brother Dave looked so sad that Wiglaf thought it best to change the subject.
“Has Worm come back yet, Brother Dave?” he asked.
Worm was a young dragon. Wiglaf and Angus had snuck his dragon egg into the Class I dorm, where he had hatched. Now he lived part-time up in the DSA library, flying in and out through its wide windows at will. Brother Dave was the only teacher who knew about Worm.
The monk shook his head. “Worm stayeth still in the Dark Forest with his dragon family,” he said.
“He has been gone a fortnight,” Wiglaf said. “I fear he has forgotten us.”
“No, no, my fine lads,” Brother Dave said. “He couldst never forget thee!”
A sudden blast of trumpets sounded outside the castle wall. Wiglaf heard the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on the drawbridge. He, Angus, and Erica ran to the gatehouse.
The gates swung open. Pairs of white horses pulled two golden carriages into the castle yard. Several lasses stepped down from each carriage. Last through the gate came a small lass riding a fine red pony. She wore a red gown and red slippers. A fancy red-and-white bag hung over her shoulder. Her hair was the color of ripe red apples.
Never in all Wiglaf’s days had he seen anyone with such bright red hair. It made his own carrot-colored hair seem almost pale.
The red-haired lass jumped down from her pony and sent it trotting off to the stables. The other lasses gathered around her.
“I once knew a lass with red hair like hers,” Erica whispered as the empty carriages turned around and left DSA. “But this cannot be she. That lass loved playing dress-up and having tea parties. She would never come to a dragon-slaying school.”
Erica turned to Class I. “All right!” she shouted. “Let’s welcome the new lasses!”
Together they cheered:
“Rooty-toot-ho! Rooty-toot-hey!
We’re Class I from DSA!
We stalk dragons, yes we do!
Big ones! Bony ones! Fat ones, too!
We stalk dragons, young and old!
We slay dragons, grab their gold!
Yay! Yay! For good old DSA—hey!”
“That is so cute!” said the redheaded lass. “Oh, I just know I’m going to love it here!”
Erica’s eyes grew wide. “St. Dominic’s dog!” she exclaimed. “Is that Gwendolyn?”
Chapter 3
“
W
elcome, lasses!” Mordred called. “I am Mordred de Marvelous, Headmaster of Dragon Slayers’ Academy.” He galloped toward the gate, his purple cape billowing out behind. “And you are—”
“Princesses!” announced the redheaded lass.
“Never interrupt
me
!” Mordred snapped. Then one of his bushy eyebrows arched way up. “Did you say…princesses?”
“One and all,” said Gwendolyn. “I am Princess Gwendolyn of Gargglethorp.”
“Oh, woe is us!” Erica shook her head, but it made her bells jingle, so she stopped.
“Gargglethorp?” Mordred squeaked. “That is a big kingdom. Very big. And very rich.”
“Very,” said Gwendolyn. “We all went to Princess Prep. Now we want to go to DSA.”
The other princesses nodded.
“So you shall!” Mordred sped to his throne-like chair and sat down. “Come! Fork over your…I mean, I shall sign you up and collect your tuition.” He unrolled his scroll.
The princesses scampered over to him.
Gwen stepped up first. “How much, Headmaster?” she asked.
“Sev—” Mordred stopped. He narrowed his eyes. “I mean…ten pennies.”
Wiglaf gasped. DSA tuition had always been seven pennies. He still owed Mordred all seven. But
ten
pennies? That was a fortune!
Gwen began emptying her fancy red-and-white bag. Wiglaf watched, amazed, as she pulled out a fancy gold brush and comb, jewel-studded barrettes, a silver looking glass, an eyelash curler, nail gloss, a couple of magazines, a newspaper, and finally a red-velvet coin purse.
“Ten pennies is all?” she asked. “Princess Prep cost far more than ten pennies.”
“Not ten,” Mordred said quickly. “Ten-tee, TEN-tee, twwwwenty pennies.” He held out his hand once more.
“Uncle Mordred is shameless,” Angus whispered.
Gwendolyn dropped twenty pennies into Mordred’s waiting palm.
Wiglaf had never seen so many pennies at one time in his life!
Mordred bit each one to make sure it was real. Then he put the pennies into the purse he wore strapped across his chest.
“Sign here,” he said, pointing to the scroll.
She signed “Gwendolyn,” making the
o
in the shape of a heart.
“Welcome to DSA!” said Mordred. “Now step aside. Shoo!” He waggled a finger at the princess in line behind Gwen. “Next!”
As the other princesses were signing up, Gwen began stuffing her things back into her bag. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now you shall get a DSA buddy,” said Lobelia, coming over to them. “Who wants to be Princess Gwendolyn’s buddy?”
Many Class I hands went up.
“Let me see…” said Lobelia. “I think…”
“I’ll pick,” said Gwendolyn firmly.
The castle yard grew still as the princess walked down the row of Class I lads and lasses, looking them over.
Baldrick wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. “Pick me,” he said. “I’ve been in Class I the longest.”
“I’m from Toenail! That’s right near Gargglethorp!” cried Torblad. “Pick me!”
Gwendolyn kept going. She stopped suddenly. “Erica von Royale? From Pretty Little Princess Preschool? Is it really
you
?”
Erica nodded. “Hello, Gwen.”
Wiglaf grinned. “Pretty Little Princess Preschool?”
“I was only three,” Erica muttered. “My parents made me go.” She looked at Gwen. “I am much surprised that you wish to study dragon slaying.”
Gwen shrugged. “I am sick of going to a princess school. I have learned the Princess Walk. And the Princess Smile. Now I’m ready to meet boys. To have adventures!”
“You’ve come to the right school!” said Janice. “So much happens here! A couple weeks ago? There was this ghost—”
“Thank you, Janice!” Lobelia cut her off. She turned to Gwen. “Would you like Erica to be your DSA buddy, dear?”
“Yes,” said Gwendolyn. “And him.” She pointed to Angus. “And the cute one with the carroty hair.”
Cute? Wiglaf felt his face grow warm.
“One buddy per lass,” said Lobelia.
Gwen favored Lady Lobelia with a dazzling smile. “I always like to have more of everything than anyone else,” she said.
“Oh, my dear!” exclaimed Lobelia. “You really are a princess!”
“What am I, chopped eel liver?” muttered Erica. She glared at Gwen.
“Buddies!” chirped Lobelia. “Take the princess over to meet her teachers.”
“Wait, Lady Lobelia!” said Erica. “First I must ask the new lasses a most important question.”
Everyone moved closer to hear Erica’s question. Even Mordred, weighed down by his bulging purse of pennies, lumbered over to hear what Erica had to say.
Erica began turning around. She jingled softly. “What do you think of this new uniform?”
Wiglaf could tell she thought that they would all hate it.
Gwen kept her eyes fastened on Erica until she had turned all the way around. Then she ran up to her and straightened the floppy bow under her chin. She stepped back to study the change.
The other princesses looked to Gwen to speak for them.
“I, personally, would never wear the helmet,” said Gwen at last.
Lady Lobelia gasped.
Erica grinned.
“But the rest of the uniform,” said Gwen, “is fabulous.”
“
What
?” cried Erica.
“Yes!” exclaimed Lobelia. “That is the very word I use to describe it myself!”
“Are you jesting, Gwen?” cried Erica.
Gwen put her hands on her hips. “You never did have an eye for fashion, Erica,” she said. “Even at Pretty Little Princess Preschool. You never came near the dress-up corner. You were always outside in that filthy sandbox.”
“I was making a scale model of Sir Lancelot’s castle at Camelot out of
sand
!” Erica cried.
Wiglaf had never seen her so upset.
Gwen only shrugged. She pointed to Erica’s puffy sleeves. “These say strength with softness,” she said. “The bells are pure genius. And the color?” She dumped out the contents of her bag again. She grabbed the newspaper. It was
Damsels’ Wear Daily
. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She read: “ ‘This year’s big color is—plum!’ ”
“Oh!” Lady Lobelia clasped her hands to her chest. “I wonder if
Damsels’ Wear Daily
would do a piece on Lobelia Originals.”
“I can’t wait to put on my uniform,” said Gwen. She began tossing her things back into her bag.
Now Mordred said, “Let me see that paper of yours.”
Gwen handed it to him.
“Mordie!” shrieked Lobelia. “This is no time to read the paper! Go—go count your pennies!”
“Hush, sister.” Mordred waved her away. “I took out an ad in
Damsels’ Wear Daily
saying that lasses are welcome at DSA. I want to see if it ran.”
“No, Uncle!” Angus ran over and snatched the paper from his uncle’s hands. “It’s uh—time for the picnic!”
Mordred grabbed it back and stared at the front page.
The castle yard grew still.
Mordred did not move a muscle. He was as still as a stone statue. Then his purple eyes began to bulge.
“I think Uncle Mordred just found out that it’s Friday the 13th,” said Angus.
The headmaster’s mouth opened and shut. No sound came out.
“Alas and alack!” cried Lobelia.
The newspaper fell from Mordred’s hand. He let out a blood-chilling yell, jumped up, and ran screaming into the castle.
Chapter 4
“
P
rincesses!” Lady Lobelia called. “Worry not! Your headmaster has a headache. He’ll be fine.” She smiled a shaky smile. “Come! I shall give you your DSA uniforms!”
The princesses ran off to the castle.
Wiglaf spied the
Damsels’ Wear Daily
that Mordred had dropped. He picked it up to give it back to Gwen.
“Let us see what sort of silly paper Gwen carries around,” said Erica.
Wiglaf was curious too. Together, they read:
DAMSELS’ WEAR DAILY
FRIDAY, THE XIIITH
TOENAIL FASHION SHOW CANCELED!
Dragon Seen Heading for DSA
Wiglaf and Erica stared at the headline.
“Let me see that,” said Angus. He read the headline. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!” he screamed. “A dragon is coming here!”
Brother Dave and the other teachers hurried over. The Class I lads did too. The princesses ran out of the castle, filling the air with a near-deafening tinkling of bells.
“Who screamed?” said Gwen. “What’s wrong?”
Wiglaf tried to hold the paper steady in his trembling hands so that all might read:
 
TOENAIL VILLAGE—Friday
Verbosia Vanity, the best-dressed damsel in Toenail, has canceled tomorrow’s big fashion show. She spoke to the press wearing a plum-colored gown.
“It was a difficult decision,” Verbosia told us. “The runway is ready. The models are here. The designers have put the finishing touches on their outfits. Everyone in Toenail has bought a ticket to the event.
“But reports from far and wide say that Snagglefahng is headed this way. He’s been stopping villagers and asking directions to Dragon Slayers’ Academy, which is just south of our fair village. Word is that Snagglefahng is out to seek revenge.”
She shook her head. “Snagglefahng is famous for torching villages for fun. We just can’t take a chance on all those fabulous clothes going up in flames. The models, either,” she added. “But just as soon as that dragon leaves DSA, we’ll set a new date. The Toenail Fashion Show must go on!”
 
“A wicked dragon is coming to DSA?” Gwen shivered. To Wiglaf’s dismay, she moved closer to him.
“See, Gwen? What did I tell you?” Janice exclaimed happily. “There’s always gobs of stuff happening around here!”
“But who could Snagglefahng be looking for here?” Erica wondered out loud.
“For me,” Brother Dave whispered. The color had drained from his face. “Snagglefahng hath tracked me down at last.”
“
You
, Brother Dave?” exclaimed Wiglaf.
“Whoa, Bro!” exclaimed Janice. “Why would a dragon be stalking you?”
“’Tis a long story,” said Brother Dave. Then he took off toward the South Tower.
“What can he mean?” asked Wiglaf.
“Search me,” said Erica. “Who’s
that
?”
She had turned and was pointing to a large figure on the castle steps. Whoever it was wore a lacy cap tied under the chin. And a short, leopard-print tunic that left his hairy legs and one hairy shoulder bare. He wore old, holey boots. Something that looked very like an eel hung around the person’s neck.
BOOK: Beware! It's Friday the 13th
11.88Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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